Shin sat in the finance hall, his brush gliding smoothly over parchment, finalizing his reports. His workspace was immaculate—scrolls stacked with precision, inkstones aligned at exact angles, and the faint scent of parchment and candle wax lingering in the air.
Silence reigned, broken only by the rhythmic strokes of his brush and the occasional rustle of paper. Order. Control. Everything as it should be.
A quiet presence approached. Without a word, a subordinate set a sealed scroll before him. The wax stamp was pristine, the parchment crisp. Shin barely acknowledged it, finishing the last stroke of his calculations before picking it up.
His sharp gaze flickered over the document, scanning the words with an unreadable expression.
Nine's information.
A month of effort had yielded only this much. That man was a ghost—a shadow slipping through intelligence networks, always one step ahead of pursuit. Shin had expected more, but even a shallow report could reveal volumes to the right eyes.
With a flick of his wrist, he held the parchment over the candle flame. The edges curled, blackening to ash.
Nine. Unknown origins. Drug master. Participant. Known as Saint in the competition. Reason unclear. Missing in action. Last seen in the western regions.
Shin's brush stilled.
Saint?
His gaze narrowed. That title didn't suit Nine at all. A demon, a warhound, an untamed beast—those would be fitting. But Saint? There was something deeper here. Something missing.
Dipping his brush into ink, he made a final note, his strokes fluid yet precise. His voice, when it came, was low but commanding.
"Dig into his time on the battlefield. Find out why they called him a Saint."
At the wave of his hand, a masked figure melted from the shadows, bowing silently before vanishing.
Shin exhaled slowly. The moment of cold calculation passed, and his mask of civility returned, a polite, unreadable smile curving his lips.
Rising from his seat, he adjusted his robes—movements fluid, like wind sweeping through an empty hall. His departure was soundless, his presence barely a whisper in the corridors.
Then, a sound reached him. His ears perked up.
A soft, lilting hum, floating through the air like silk.
Shin turned his head.
Aya.
She walked barefoot through the garden, her steps unhurried, as if time itself softened around her. A woven basket rested in the crook of her arm, filled with fresh medicinal herbs, green stems peeking through the weave. Every now and then, she lifted one to her nose, inhaling its scent, her voice unconsciously shaping a melody.
Her silken robes trailed behind her, veiling her feet so that only when she stepped did her bare skin peek through. The sight was surreal—like something lifted from an old painting, a moment stolen from a dream.
Shin's gaze lingered, curiosity flickering beneath his usual composed expression.
Is she truly comfortable walking barefoot?
For a moment, he considered moving along. But Aya's senses were sharp. She turned, her gaze settling on him.
"Master Shin?" she called.
He inclined his head. "Please, just Shin."
Aya tilted her head slightly. "Shin."
A strange pause followed.
She said his name so simply—without hesitation, without weight. Not laced with wariness, not tangled in expectation. Just spoken.
And yet, Shin found himself registering it more than he should have.
"Are you going to Nine?" she asked.
"I am, my lady."
"He's at the training grounds," she said. "I'm heading to the medicinal hall—it's nearby. I can tell him to meet you at his quarters if you wish."
Shin stepped forward but kept a respectful distance. "The lord isn't fond of his throne. I'll go to him instead. May I walk with you on the way, madame?"
Aya adjusted the basket in her arms. "That's fine."
He extended a hand, offering to carry it, but she declined with polite firmness.
"It's fine," she repeated.
Shin withdrew his hand without protest. "Is someone hurt, madame?"
"No. I'm just learning medicine." Her answer was simple.
Shin's lips curled slightly. "I hear from the servants that you learn quickly. That's impressive."
"Heard, huh?" Aya glanced at him.
For the first time, she studied him.
"I don't trust you," she stated plainly, "but you're very good at keeping order here."
Shin faced her fully, golden eyes meeting hers before he smiled—fox-like, unreadable.
"Understandable," he replied smoothly. "Trust takes time."
"If you're digging for information, try harder." Aya smiled back, the edge of her words like the glint of a blade.
Shin let out a quiet chuckle, not offended in the slightest. Instead, he plucked a stray herb that had fallen from her basket and placed it back inside with an elegant bow.
"You dropped a leaf, madame," he murmured before turning away.
Aya watched his retreating figure, her steps slower, her thoughts unreadable.
---
The moment Shin stepped into the training hall, a hand shot out, snatching the scroll he carried.
Nine.
The man barely spared him a glance, unrolling the parchment and scanning its contents in seconds before tossing it back.
"Your budget is excellent," Nine stated. "There's room for more. Once the construction is finished, I'll instruct further adjustments."
"Yes, my lord."
Shin remained composed, but Nine's stare lingered—a little too long. Oddly probing.
"...Is something wrong?" Shin finally asked.
Nine didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his nose twitched.
Shin stiffened slightly.
"You met Aya."
Shin blinked.
For a brief second, his mind went utterly blank.
Then, an incredulous thought crossed him—is he a dog?
"...Yes," Shin answered evenly. "The madame told me your location. She was heading to the medicinal hall, so I walked with her."
Nine gave a short, considering hum.
"Ah. Leave if you're done."
Shin exhaled silently. A stingy couple, he thought in amusement.
His gaze flickered toward the far end of the hall.
Seven. Tied to a pole.
Shin's expression froze momentarily, struggling to process what he was seeing.
The child, however, seemed delighted. Not distressed—quite the opposite. He giggled, eyes bright with joy as Nine executed a series of martial techniques before him, each movement fluid and lethal.
Every time Nine completed a move, he paused—smirking arrogantly at his son.
Seven burst into laughter, clapping his tiny hands in pure, unrestrained joy.
Nine, utterly pleased with himself, flexed theatrically, exaggerating his movements more as if showing off.
Seven was enraptured, eyes sparkling.
Shin couldn't help it. His lips curved into an amused smile.
What a lovely family.
For some reason, the thought stayed with him.
As he turned to leave, steps slow and measured, a familiar melody escaped his lips—soft, almost absentminded.
The tune Aya had been humming earlier.
It lingered in the air, floating gently as Shin walked away.